Hermione

While casting of rudimentary Memory Charms can be done through relatively simple incantations, removal of even the simplest Charms requires delicate work. Hastily applied Memory Charms can modify the Charmed person's memory in unpredictable ways, including unintentional blocking of commonly accessed memories, weak barriers which may be accidentally broken by the Charmed person, or complete (and therefore permanent) obliteration of the targeted memories.

Complex Memory Charms require the caster to be an experienced Legilimens so as to properly block and modify only the targeted memories. Implantation of false memories should only be attempted by such a person as it is nearly impossible to create memories which will be seamlessly assimilated into the Charmed person's existing memories without intimate knowledge of the Charmed person. By this same logic, the caster removing a memory block or false memory must use Legilimency so as to not remove or damage true memories or leave partial imprints of the removed block or memory.

When a Memory Charm has been applied correctly—

An earth-shaking crash broke through Hermione's concentration and she whipped around to see a cackling apparition in a jester's hat throwing rocks at the walls of the newly repaired Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom. "PEEVES!" she screamed as a crack appeared in one corner.

"Hoity-toity Granger thinks she might be in danger!" Peeves shouted and zoomed out of the room, only to return with what looked like a box from Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. "Leave now or forever hold your peas!" And he ripped open the box to reveal a collection of fireworks.

"Peeves, if you set a single one of those off, I will get the Bloody Baron in here."

The poltergeist blew a raspberry in her ear and she shrieked. "I only need to set one off!"

"Now run!" a disembodied voice said from somewhere else in the room.

"Who's there?" Hermione demanded.

"Just run!"

Peeves held up one of the fireworks and a lighter. Hermione jammed the book on Memory Charms into her bag and ran—straight into Blaise Zabini. The Slytherin raised an eyebrow as she stumbled backward but his face was devoid of emotion.

"Granger," he greeted.

"Sorry," she said. "Peeves—mayhem. You know. Oh! I have those essays you asked me to look over. The History of Magic essay is a bit long and overcomplicated and you know Binns doesn't read the whole thing."

Zabini smirked and held out his hand for the scrolls. "Lord knows if you're saying the essay is overcomplicated, it must be a disaster. I'll revise it before Monday."

"Okay, good. The Arithmancy work is decent, although I added some notes about Hebrew-based divination techniques and how they led to the development of new curses, and the Ancient Runes translations were perfect. The Potions essay on advanced uses of boomslang skin is definitely your stronger option, but if you'd prefer to turn in the one about experimental improvements to the Wolfsbane Potion, there's a book in the library called—"

He took the parchments from Hermione's grasp with an amused shake of his head. "You're something else, Granger. How do you have time to do it all?"

"I have a lot more time without having prefect duties this year. And I spent a considerable amount of time helping Harry and Ron. It's a bit of a relief to review someone else's work, to be honest."

Zabini let out a genuine laugh, which seemed to surprise him as much as it did Hermione. "Nice to see something higher quality this year?"

Hermione flushed lightly, realizing the accidental insult about her best friends. "That's not what I meant."

The chuckling man winked and turned away. "If you say so, Granger."

"It wouldn't hurt to say thank you, you know," she called after him as he headed down the hall.

He waved the parchments in the air. "Thank you," he said without turning around.

An almighty BANG sounded from the classroom she had just left and a sparkling pink dragon rocketed into the corridor. Hermione did an about-face and ran. She remembered the Vanishing debacle of fifth-year when their travesty of a "headmistress" attempted to clear the school of the Weasleys' mayhem-causing fireworks, which only caused them to multiply or explode. Hermione didn't fancy being chased by ten dragons, real or charmed.

"There you are!" a voice shouted when she reached the Entrance Hall. Neville, Hannah, and Ginny waved her over to where they stood in front of a broom closet.

"Are you okay?" Hannah asked as Hermione caught her breath.

"Peeves—fireworks—Weasleys," was all she managed to say.

"How did Peeves get a-hold of Whiz-Bangs?" Ginny asked, flawlessly translating Hermione's gibberish.

"Fred and George must have stashed some somewhere. I wouldn't put it past them," Neville said, though there was something shifty about the way he looked away from Hermione and Hannah when he spoke.

"Neville..." Hermione said.

The man held up his hands. "I swear I didn't do it."

Hannah folded her arms. "But you know who did."

"Seamus," Hermione said. "Who else would provide pyrotechnics to a psychotic poltergeist?"

Neville kept his face impassive. "I can neither confirm nor deny—"

"I can tell Professor McGonagall that I'm concerned your independent study under Professor Sprout is interfering with your other classes," Hannah threatened.

"I thought you Hufflepuffs were supposed to be loyal!"

His girlfriend gave a sugar-sweet smile. "I am. To Hermione." All three women giggled at Neville's outraged face. "What'll it be?"

Neville caved with a good-natured shake of his head. "All I can tell you is it was a group effort that may or may not have been headed by a certain Muggle-born Hufflepuff."

The bushy-haired Gryffindor was not amused. "Why would Justin give Peeves fireworks? Doesn't that seem a little irresponsible? What if he sets them off in the library?"

Ginny chuckled. "Of course your first concern would be the library."

Hermione harrumphed and looked at Neville. "Why?"

"You've been miserable for two weeks. Do you know what happened two weeks ago?" She shook her head. "They repaired the classroom. You used to stare at the rubble like it was a lifeline. You said it yourself: seeing the evidence of the Battle kept you grounded."

"So you blew it up?" she yelled. "That's vandalism! It's—"

"Hermione, stop. We'll put it right at the end of the school year."

"It's still vandalism."

"If it makes you feel any better, it wasn't our idea. We don't even know whose it was. Justin heard this voice one day after a meeting..."

Ginny's entire body tightened, nearly shaking with anger. "Oh, no. You didn't."

"You listened to an anonymous VOICE?" Hermione demanded, her fists clenched at her sides. She ignored the fact that she had also just listened to a faceless voice, but in all fairness, it only told her to run. Not blow up a classroom. "Do you even realize how dangerous that is?"

Hannah was watching Ginny with her eyes narrowed. "Ginny? Do you know who it is?"

"No," the youngest Weasley said curtly. "But I know better than to listen to disembodied voices. Where the hell is Justin? I need to hex something." She stomped toward the Great Hall, where dinner was wrapping up. She whirled around with her wand pointed straight at Neville. "NEVER listen to anything if you don't know where it keeps its brain. A first-year would know that." She resumed her hunt for the lamed eighth-year, who wouldn't stand a chance against her unless he managed to conjure a Shield Charm worthy of Albus Dumbledore.

In the Entrance Hall, Neville's face turned ashen and guilty. "But...we thought it would help."

Hermione closed her eyes and took a deep breath, willing her resolve to stay angry, but it was Neville. And she could never stay mad at Neville. She growled, annoyed at herself for forgiving him so easily, and pulled him into a hug. "Thank you for thinking of me." She glanced into the next room. "I'll thank the other idiot after we get him to Madam Pomfrey."

Neville choked out a short laugh. "Thank you for not hexing me."

"I could never hex you." Hermione stepped toward the grand doors into the Great Hall. "Now. Who does the strongest Body-Bind Curse, or are we going to have to call in Aurors to stop Miss Weasley?"

Two hours and one trip to the Hospital Wing later (Justin had boils on his face while Ginny gashed her forehead on the edge of the Slytherin table when Neville put her in a Body-Bind; Madam Pomfrey was livid), Hermione sat in the newly-destroyed classroom with the book on Memory Charms open once again. No matter how much she didn't want it to be true, the theme through the entire chapter on removing the charms was the same: Legilimency. Memory Charms were never to be removed by anyone other than an experienced Legilimens. Granted, they weren't supposed to be cast by anyone but a Legilimens, but it was too late for that now.

She sorted through the short stack of books she could find on Legilimency, only to discover that all of them were about theory. The sections on technique were scarce and vague. Useless. The books were useless.

Hermione dropped her head to the table. It was useless.

"Hermione," the disembodied voice whispered.

The sound sent a chill down her spine, but a sense of familiarity chased it away. She knew that voice. Now that she wasn't fuming at Peeves, she knew she knew that voice.

"Hermione, work on the Tracking Parchments."

She spun in her chair and looked frantically for where the voice might be coming from. "Fred?"

"Maybe. I might be Forge."

"Where are you?"

"Can't tell you."

"Why can't I see you?"

The disembodied voice laughed. "I've been practicing throwing my voice. It's surprisingly easy as a ghost. I can project anywhere."

"If you're throwing your voice, how do you know where I am? And how are you hearing me?"

"Ghosts have clothes, right?"

Hermione nodded at the empty room. "Right..."

"Well, turns out whatever you die with, you keep, therefore I have an after-lifetime supply of Tracking Parchments and Extendable Ears." She could almost hear his frown. "Although, wands seem to be an exception to that rule. Ginny told me they never found mine."

"Ginny knows about you?"

"So do the Slytherins, but they don't know it's me exactly. George and I learned early in life how to mimic the family ghoul. Don't tell Ron."

Hermione straightened up in her chair and tried not to be disconcerted by the fact she was talking to something she couldn't see. "Have you been to see George?"

There was a pause before the voice answered. "I can't bring myself to do it yet. Ginny said he ran away."

"He's with Charlie, if you want to consider that 'running away'. It might be easier on him if he knew you were still around. You could still help with the store, although it would probably have to be an advisory role."

"But that's just it. I can't. I can't...watch George grow old while I'm stuck looking like a twenty-year-old with a bad haircut."

"If you're not still here for George, then why are you still here?"

"Because I can't leave without him. But if he knows that's why I'm here, it'll drive him mad."

Hermione held back the emotion rising in her chest. "He'll find out eventually."

"I can play Ghoul for the next eighty-plus years. I can terrorize generations of Slytherins. Parkinson's already moved into the boys' dormitory so Zabini can protect her."

"Fred. You'll get bored."

The disembodied voice laughed again. "That's why I have Peeves."

"Wouldn't you rather be developing pranks with your brother?"

"Hermione, I can't. I've already said that."

"George is stronger than you're giving him credit for. Tell him. Besides, the Weasley twins I know would be thrilled by the opportunity to have their store run by a ghost." This was met with silence. "Fred?"

Something icy passed through Hermione's leg and she looked down in time to see a thin, see-through snake whipping through the far wall. An Extendable Ear, she realized. The conversation was over. Once again, Fred was gone.