-.-

Ms. Granger, Draw Your Wand: Part I

The seventy-five carefully hand-picked Haunt invitees had been told to arrive at the Gryffindor portrait hole at exactly 21:00 on Halloween night, and had been herded into a stark Common Room cleared of practically all furniture.

Meanwhile, Hermione lingered in the shadows beneath the stairway to the first and second years' dorms, overhearing snippets of confusion at the lack of decorations or revelry.

For once in her life as My, she was actually comfortable in her attire, a stunningly beautiful replica of Ravenclaw's highly functional duelling garb. Thin, carefully etched brown vines climbed the front of the fitted, deep blue leather cuirass atop a tunic of the same color, blossoming into an eagle on her back; lightweight, intricately carved bronze-leather spaulders and bracers designed for maximum flexibility and defence clasped her wrists and shoulders; butter-soft, Ravenclaw-brown breeches clung to her legs, with thin greaves and leather boots stretching to her knees; and a regal, ruby-and-gold scabbard and startlingly accurate replica of the Sword of Gryffindor cinched tightly around her waist.

Hermione had managed to attend the Haunt as her wizarding idol, Saoirse of Hogwarts… which was a small comfort in the midst of much literal and figurative darkness she'd experienced that evening.

She had first read Saoirse's story when she was eleven, before she had even come to Hogwarts. As a Muggle-born, she'd been sent her Hogwarts invitation, a somewhat hilariously simplistic introductory booklet on the wizarding world, and a copy of Hogwarts, A History.

Hermione had come across the story early in the book, and she'd quickly committed the legendary scholar and warrior's tale to memory afterward.

Saoirse Kavanagh was also a Muggle-born witch who became a Gryffindor student, immediately after the four Founders' deaths. In the days of Hogwarts' infancy, the castle was the target of many attacks, and a Dark Lord from Eastern Europe soon arrived, desiring possession of the magnificent castle and the magical items rumored to be kept within it. Posing as a diplomat, he was able to gain access to the castle grounds, where he and his forces quickly overpowered and killed the small number of faculty in a powerful surprise assault — with the students left in the castle to fend for themselves.

In an effort to calm and inspire her panicking classmates, Saoirse, at that time the Head Girl, donned the Sorting Hat and Rowena Ravenclaw's duelling garb, which had been kept in another of the school's fledgling archival rooms, and with the sword of Gryffindor in one hand and her wand in the other, rallied the students to fight back for their lives and for the castle they called home.

Legend had it that when, in the midst of battle, the Dark Lord separated Saoirse from both her wand and the Sword, holding her captive against him to discourage her Hogwarts compatriots, Saoirse ripped the Sorting Hat from her head and again pulled from it the Sword of Gryffindor, stabbing the blade through her own shoulder to pierce the Dark Lord's heart and end the conflict once and for all. With the Dark Lord defeated and the power of a hundred students, the numbers were suddenly tipped in their favour, and the students cleverly used their knowledge of the castle and grounds to push the remaining invaders back.

As Hogwarts rebuilt, Saoirse went on to become a teacher there, and the first Headmistress the school had seen.

Hermione had been been utterly starstruck when she'd had the opportunity to speak with Saoirse's portrait in the Headmaster's office in third year, and she'd often thought back to her story for encouragement during the darkest days of the war with Voldemort.

Saoirse Kavanagh was as much a legend in this universe as she had been in Universe A, Hermione had discovered — perhaps even moreso, given the prestige of Muggle-borns here. But this Saoirse had been a practitioner of dark magic, which she had used in a typically-reversed situation to defeat a coalition of unapologetically light wizards who sought to take and reform the castle.

Still, Hermione knew the real Saoirse she was honouring that night, even as she, as Saoirse's Universe B counterpart, had dramatically kicked off the worst scene of utter debauchery she'd ever witnessed.

The theme of this year's Haunt had been "Party or Die," and Hermione had been forced to participate in and practice the socially required welcome skit many, many times — always making deliberate errors — so it would appear to the other seven members of the Haunt planning committee that she was indeed "rubbish at remembering."

For it to convincingly be a costume My might actually choose to wear, Hermione'd had to necessarily make sure it was all just tight enough, and pay enough consideration to her makeup and her now-mahogany brown curls, dyed exactly to Saoirse's shade in her portrait and carefully pulled back in a messy but stylish loose bun. But, especially given the facts that (a) she would be channeling an iconic Muggle-born and (b) it would give the boys on the planning committee the opportunity to design fake explosions, it had all been heartily accepted.

At exactly 21:04, said fake explosions began to discharge loudly around the common room and 'outside' the window, drawing startled shouts and shrieks.

Through the smoke, Seamus Finnegan rushed through the portrait hole, dressed in Founders-period garb, his face smudged and panicked.

"The castle's defences have fallen! Our professors are overcome!" he bellowed dramatically. "Our attackers have breached the walls!"

Immediately, Parvati Patil and other members of the planning committee (very skillfully) began to cry and shriek, "Noooo! We must give ourselves up!"

"We cannot possibly defeat such forces!"

"Merlin help us; we'll be killed, surely!"

As more attendees drew their wands, releasing disconcerted exclamations that seemed unclear as to whether or not whatever was happening was a real threat, Hermione took a small breath, summoning the utter confidence she knew My would undoubtedly embody at a moment like this, and pushed forward from the back of the crowd.

"Silence, all of you!" she exclaimed, and with a subtle Levitating spell from Dean Thomas, easily leapt onto the still-empty drinks table. She drew both her wand and the sword, which she had charmed to be extremely lightweight. "Students of Hogwarts, we must not lose hope!"

Relieved smiles and chuckles burst from several worried-looking students who must have suddenly realized what was going on.

"Yes, something sinful approaches," Hermione continued in a throaty purr, trying to ignore Ginevra's eyes shooting daggers at her and every boy making eyes at her. "But we are many in number. We are strong and resourceful, with a stamina unmatched by any in the Sovereignty. We cannot abandon this fight!"

"Preach it, Saoirse!" someone yelled, which gave Hermione hope that to the average, carefree teenage wizard in Universe B, she didn't appear completely absurd.

She began to pace across the table. "Nine cases of butterbeer… Fifteen bottles of firewhiskey… Forty kilos of the most ravishing food in all the land… endless hours of the wickedest dance music these walls have heard… Oh yes. We face a dangerous battle indeed. Only the bravest of witches and wizards will survive this night." More smoke and mist had began to stream around her as she looked out into the crowd, her voice grave. "We have only one choice: party hard… or die."

A rumble of agreement and hoots of approval echoed around the packed room.

She raised her sword, meeting the eyes of the fifth, sixth, seventh and eighth years in attendance as she swept the blade around the room. "This could be, I fear, the challenge of a lifetime. But it is a challenge upon which our very lives depend. Do you accept? Will you join with me tonight?"

"Yes!" they all roared.

Hermione thrust the sword into the air. "To whom do we dedicate these noble festivities?"

"To Hogwarts!" the planning committee bellowed.

She lowered her sword at them and shouted more loudly, "To whom do we dedicate these noble festivities?"

She could have sworn the very walls of the Gryffindor common room shook as all 75 students present thundered, "TO HOGWARTS!"

With a final faux explosion, the room expanded and transfigured into what resembled more a haunted forest than a dance hall. Apparently the decorations themselves were one of the things for which the Haunt was so well known, and something for which those who'd secured a coveted spot on the planning committee seemed to have been preparing for years. Between the mist and smoke, upon shadowy silhouettes of barren trees perched ravens and bats. Realistic, massive spiderwebs hung from tree branches and the ceiling, which was largely obscured in the blackened room. Light came only from candles that floated or dangled eerily throughout the forest and on long tables that had suddenly appeared, laden heavy with food and drink, bloody goblets, chains, pumpkins, squash, spiders and skulls. The swirling mist led to a central dance floor from which loud music had immediately begun pounding. Two bright strobe lights rotated high into the dark, revealing hovering ghosts, skeletons and 'Dementors,' — which frankly Hermione couldn't possibly imagine feeling comfortable dancing near.

She lowered her sword, still gripping it tightly, as a handful of students rushed forward to claim extremely plush private lounge areas in the periphery of the 'woods;' Hermione didn't doubt they'd be full of drug-smoking junkies within fifteen minutes.

Her heart was racing. In spite of the disapproval she felt for her surroundings, she was surprised to find she felt strangely… exhilarated. Had her Harry experienced a similar rush when rousing Dumbledore's Army to fight near the end of the war?

Doubtful, she thought logically. He, like she and everyone else, had probably been largely concerned about how he'd survive the next few hours.

Still, the legitimate enthusiasm she'd felt partially channeling the famous speech of her Hogwarts idol must have been obvious, because some time later, Harry's Universe B counterpart had wandered by her in the pulsing music and strobe lights, bumping into her hard from behind as she'd gotten a new goblet of pumpkin juice from a refreshment table.

"I see your infamy's going to your head, Granger," he snarked in her ear.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Oh, bugger off." She began to head back to the handful of worshipful girls she'd surrounded herself with in one of the lounges, where she'd been making inane conversation to insulate herself from unwanted advances by any men there, Ronáld in particular even though he was currently still 'with' Lavender. There wasn't a single person here she wanted to dance with/be groped by, and she planned to ensure she didn't even get near the dance floor that night.

On second thought, though, she spun back toward him. "Harry—"

He had disappeared into the crowd.

She ducked between a 'headless' horseman and a nearly naked mermaid and after a moment found him again. She grabbed his arm and pulled him down slightly so she could speak in his ear. "Ginevra tried to slip something in my drink earlier. Be careful. She may be out for blood from either of us tonight."

Harry grimaced. "Damn that lunatic witch!" He lowered his face close to hers to keep their conversation as private as possible in the noisy hall. "I explicitly told that incompetent Corner to make sure he—"

"First my House-Wizard, now my boyfriend… why is it that I'm not surprised?"

Hermione froze, for a split second staring wide-eyed into Harry's narrowing eyes, before she straightened her shoulders. In the darkness, she shoved the tiny bag of Wizarding Wheezes into Harry's hands, before she spun unconcernedly to face Ginevra and the handful of the redhead's seventh-year sidekicks standing around her.

"I'm sorry. Were you addressing me?" she asked sweetly. "If yes, I believe a 'Thank you, Lady Evans, for assuming my responsibilities in the planning of this fabulous party' is in order."

From the corner of her eye she saw Harry shoot her a sidelong glance and vanish back into the crowd that had suddenly began to grow around them.

Just delay her, just delay her…

Ginevra scoffed loudly, her eyeliner-traced brown eyes spitting fire. "What's next, My, eh?" she drawled, her aggrandized enunciation of her words clearly indicating inebriation. "The knickers off my body? The heart from my chest?"

Hermione let out a snort that wasn't even feigned as she got a better look at the skintight black leather leotard — with no tights — that Ginevra was wearing that stretched up into formfitting hood with cat ears. "Knickers?" she echoed contemptuously. "It's quite clear from that—" she wrinkled her nose and waved her hand dismissively, "thing you're wearing that you don't have any to begin with, and as for your heart, well…" She gave Ginevra a knowing smirk. "Unlike you, I don't fantasize about things that don't exist."

Laughter sprinkled through the crowd of onlookers. When Ginevra scowled angrily, Hermione knew she'd caught the allusion she was making to the redhead's nonexistent relationship with Harry as much as the life-giving organ.

"Oh, don't you think you're the dog's bollocks! Parading about as one of Hogwarts' greatest dark magic practitioners!" she proclaimed scornfully, her drunken words greatly exaggerated. "If you're such a powwwerful warrior—" She suddenly whipped out her wand and fired a jet of green light at the ground. The crowd gasped, and a spider scuttling along the floor dropped dead at her feet, "…then let's see you fight like one."

Even though a spider wasn't the most charismatic of creatures, anger surged through Hermione at the mindless killing. Oh, how she itched to see how the cruel woman could handle facing someone who could actually match her hex for jinx, but on top of the fact that My wouldn't have been able to win, she knew a violent confrontation was exactly want Ginevra wanted.

Instead she forced herself to only arch an eyebrow. "Really, Ginevra, just because you're jealous and insecure and out of your mind sloshed doesn't mean you always need to cause a scene," she said snottily. "And you wonder why you aren't invited to more parties."

And then, despite the utter stupidity the battle-hardened witch inside her screamed that it was, Hermione forced herself to nonchalantly turn her back on the redheaded witch in a ever-so-casual attempt to dismissively walk away from the fight.

Unfortunately, the circle that had formed around them was blocking her path, with Ville Longbottom, dressed like a pirate, directly at her back. He leered at her predatorily. "What's wrong, Evans?" he asked, alcohol on his breath and a slight slur to his voice. "Cat got ya' tongue?" He chuckled at his own ingenuity.

Hermione smiled saucily, taking hold of his sash-like belt and pulling him toward her, if only to get him to either move out of the way or off with her 'somewhere more private,' where she could confound him and escape. "That feral cat couldn't keep hold of anyone's tongue without shredding it," she purred coquettishly. She flicked her gaze up to his, blinking at him from beneath her lashes. "Me, on the other hand... could give yours the kind of massage it would never forget..."

Ville's eyes lit up like Guy Fawkes' Night.

"Ah! So it is all a pretense then!" Ginevra said shrilly behind her before they could get far. "Pretending to be such a - a noble leader when you're s-selfish to the core. Hoarding away your... your worthless House-Wizard instead of sharing him with the rest of us!"

Hermione momentarily stopped breathing.

Images of Draco's warm eyes and courageous smile and then his horrifically scar-covered body flashed through her mind.

Her fingers twitched toward her wand.

"My brother'n I were generous," Ginevra continued on theatrically. "Our family let everyone make use of Hogwarts' favorite fusty. That conservative skrewt was the reason last year's Haunt was so bloody entertaining. And now you've - what? Gone'n got two of your own, and you're still unwilling to share the spoils?"

For the first time that night, this drew a rumble of agreement from the crowd against Hermione.

She didn't care.

You vile, evil demon!

In a rush, her blood began to boil, her pulse throbbing in her temple. Through a wave of hatred the strength of which she didn't think she possessed, she clenched her hand into a first to keep from drawing her wand or her sword or both.

Somewhat desperately, her mind repeated, Just delay her, just delay her…

Harry, where the bloody hell are you!?

She spun. "Hmm, that's funny, I don't seem to recall the rest of Hogwarts in that bed with your brother and me when he lost that bet," she spat. "Then again, you have seemed to develop an unhealthy obsession with me lately; I wouldn't be surprised if you'd been skulking about watching."

Ginevra smiled. "Ooo. Struck a chord, there, did I?" She again raised her wand. "Does this mean you'll have the nerve to draw your wand?"

Someone in the by-now large crowd around them began to chant, "Fight, fight, fight," and suddenly sixty voices were echoing the shout until it reverberated off the walls, drowning out even the blaring techno.

Oh Goddess. When had 'delay' turned to 'duel'?!

She realized she was holding her wand; she hadn't even realized she'd drawn it. Her racing heart leapt to her throat, and she gripped it indecisively, her facade an annoyed pout. Could she really duel Ginevra here, in front of everyone? Yes, the witch might be intoxicated, which would certainly play to Hermione's advantage, but she hadn't duelled in over two months, and she'd certainly never practiced half-arsed duelling, either. Yet now she'd somehow have to smother her instinctive survival responses to pretend to have zero ability... all while making her disarmament of Ginevra look accidental?

"FIGHT, FIGHT, FIGHT, FIGHT…"

Suddenly, Harry burst through the edge of the crowd a few paces to Ginevra's left. He met Hermione's eyes and nodded once, ever-so-slightly.

She pursed her lips to keep them from parting in shock.

From the intensity with which his eyes were boring into hers, the nod could have only meant one thing.

Her mind began to race, frantically outlining various scenarios by which she could eliminate Ginevra swiftly without looking particularly skilled herself; most of them involved dodging behind various large objects like trees and people while causing other large items to fall on or trip the youngest Weasley.

You'd better bloody well know what you're doing, Harry.

"Oh, fine," Hermione sighed loudly, holding up her wand with a flourish. "If we must."

The crowd cheered.

A wicked grin burst across Ginevra's lips. Her eyes flicked over My's garb. "Better hope that costume's authentic, Saoirse of Hogwarts." Scoffing contemptuously, she raised her wand, and Hermione steeled herself, preparing to dive to her right. "You're going to need all the help you can get."

Before Hermione could blink, Ginevra had lunged. "INFLATUS!"

With an unceremonious QUACK, a large rubber duck burst from the end of her wand.

Hermione's instant surge of relief escaped her lips in a disbelieving laugh.

Ginevra looked down furiously at the yellow duck now dangling from the end of her hand and shook it furiously as if she was trying to fling it off, the movements exaggerated in her drunkenness. When the motion only resulted in increasingly louder 'quacks,' she shouted, "Reducto!"

The wand squeaked, and the duck immediately transformed into a slimy, still-wiggling trout. Harry had switched Ginevra's wand with a trick one.

Oh, thank you Merlin.

As the entire room burst into guffaws, Hermione quickly reassembled her reactions into those of My.

"Oh. Oh, dear," she said in concern, trying to stifle her laughter to feign worry. "Having trouble performing? I do hear these things tend to come with age. Then again, I wouldn't know." She smirked. "I'm still a powerful warrior."

Ginevra howled with rage, shoving the wand and the dangling fish at Hermione's face. "CRUCIO!"

Immediately, the wand yanked itself from Ginevra's hand, floated into the air, and began beating her over the head.

By now, every onlooker had collapsed into uproarious laughter as Ginevra tried to dodge the attacking stick, some of her seventh year classmates desperately trying to help catch it and wrench it away. Hermione took advantage of the chaos to shove her way though the crowd, trying to appear as though she were simply swaggering from a fight well won.

She passed Hufflepuff Rolf Scamander, who was bent double, tears in his eyes. "I don't know how you did it, Evans, but that was brilliant! Absolutely brilliant!"

"Oh, it had absolutely nothing to do with me," she replied sweetly, smiling prettily; the last thing she wanted to do was have the wand scrutinized. She raised her voice. "In fact, I hope you all know full credit goes to my friend Ginevra's ever-so-skillful wand-handling ability… or lack thereof."

Poke fun as she may have continued to do as My, her fleeting, amused relief was quickly turning to concern. If Ginevra's hostility had been bad before, she couldn't even began to fathom what this encounter would do to it.

As she reached the edge of the crowd, she felt something materialize in her palm; she glanced around casually before she raised her hand slightly. On a piece of paper, Harry's elegant script had etched, Leave now. I'll switch them back before she investigates.

Hermione incinerated the note as soon as she'd read it.

He didn't need to tell her twice.

An unearthly screech of anger followed her departure.

Oh sweet Morgana. She's going to try to kill me.


Under the cover of the Invisibility Cloak, Hermione beelined directly from the Haunt to the library and the windowless, rotund Archives room housed within the turret at its northwest corner.

She'd snuck away to this very place during every free moment she'd had that week.

After she'd been thoroughly unsettled by her woefully inadequate knowledge of Tom Riddle, his motivations, and his sudden, pervasive presence, she'd immediately set about better informing herself of the few key participants in the war, a few of whom had been expunged from history books. Unfortunately, this made her search for information more difficult, until she'd had the inspiration to check nontraditional sources, like newspapers, in the case they had been overlooked.

She'd been pleased to discover — they had been.

And while The Daily Prophet may have been blatantly biased, the copious details she had drawn from articles within it were far better than nothing at all.

At 22:37 on Halloween night, it was safe to assume that the library was wholly empty of students or staff. Still, she carefully perused the Marauder's Map for Filch and Mrs. Norris once she reached the Archives. From the volume of refreshments she'd seen Filch imbibe at the Halloween Feast — always adding a hearty splash of liquid from a flask he'd subtly pull from his sleeve after peering surreptitiously around the Great Hall in a decidedly unsubtle fashion — she assumed he wouldn't present any issues tonight.

Indeed, the Map confirmed he and Mrs. Norris seemed to be holed up in his quarters near the dungeons. Once she was satisfied that no one was anywhere near the library except Pomona Sprout, who must have had that night's patrol and who was heading away and toward the outer doors of the castle, Hermione willingly sank into one of three stiff observation chairs clustered around a stark table inside the otherwise empty room.

Metal clanged against her leg, and she subconsciously moved her hand over the sword. For a moment, she considered removing it from her side, but quickly decided against it — after what had just happened, in a room with only one exit, and therefore one escape route, she had to admit she felt more comfortable with it on her person, even if it was a fake.

Finally assured that she was entirely alone, she inhaled a deep, relieved breath, never more grateful for the solitude. She nearly choked on the overpowering stench that accompanied the breath, and with a quick freshening charm, she purged the smell of smoke and whatever else had thickened the air at the Haunt that now clung to her clothing and hair.

Then she sighed heavily, setting the map beside her on the table.

Her hands were trembling faintly.

Briefly, she closed her eyes and dropped her head into her hands, trying not to think about the potential consequences of what had just happened between her and Ginevra, and what they would mean for how she would have to carry out her daily life at Hogwarts. Great Godric, on top of everything else, that was just what she needed: some ludicrous and possibly murderous social vendetta against her.

But she'd had absolutely no other way of extracting herself from that situation, she rationalized. Yes, perhaps she shouldn't have continued to goad the situation halfway through, but Ginevra had made her so angry... so angry…

Because of Draco.

Before she could stop herself, her mind darted to the blond Slytherin, and desperately hoped that he and his father were faring far better now than they had been after the last report she'd received from Harry.

Guilt at her own selfishness again wrenched at her stomach, try as she had many times over the past several days to force away the sensation. Yes, she'd been extremely busy, but she was also well aware she had been staying away from the Chamber for another reason - avoidance.

During the time he probably needed her friendship the most.

At the very thought of it, something panged deep in her chest.

Over the past several weeks, she had finally let herself admit she cared about him, about Pansy, even about Harry, and the conservatives' struggle for their freedom and very existence.

The problem with Draco was that she cared too much.

In the very brief time this week she'd allowed herself to divert energy to thinking about her feelings, she decided she didn't fancy him - she hated that word for its superficiality. No, in a startlingly short period of time, she had come to care about Draco deeply, like Harry and Ron, yes, but also very... differently. Different in ways she'd never experienced or fully understood. She didn't care to count the number of times she realized she wanted to talk to him that week, about his father, about the stupid Haunt and the complex and oftentimes elusive history of this Universe, about anything, about everything...

But she couldn't. She couldn't afford the distraction it would pose from essential tasks that literally required all the energy in her being: of embodying My and all the inane social activities that required, avoiding suspicion at all costs, protecting (and in many cases wrangling in) Peia, trying to understand the frustratingly vague prophecies and how they could - according to Firenze, at least - possibly link to her, and between it all, every now and then, though she had begun to focus on it less and less, continue to search, search for a potential path to the beloved Universe from which she'd come in case it all went wrong here.

No, her deeper feelings for Draco, like Ginevra's mindless vendetta, were something with which she desperately could not afford to continually have to contend. Far, far greater things were at stake - like his, Pansy's, hers, the conservatives' very lives.

With a heavy sigh, she again forced her focus away from the former and back to the latter. She genuinely didn't understand why Ginevra continually insisted on going to battle with her; neither the redhead nor her family had ever come out on top.

Perhaps that's why she wants to duel you so badly, she thought. That's one fight she's confident she can win.

In fact, Hermione was so concerned about the potential threat Ginevra posed that on the walk here she had seriously contemplated contacting Lily Evans to help her deal with the problem; no doubt the proud Muggle-born would be less than thrilled an Old-Blood and a Weasley had it in for a member of her family, even if she was adopted.

She noticed then that her hands had stopped shaking, thank Merlin, and she took a small, steadying breath, turning her attention to the empowering research she'd been conducting all week. For her, the night was still young, and she hoped that by the end of it she would have as complete a picture as the Prophet could paint of some of Universe B's key players.

By only the light of the tip of her wand, she turned behind her, fiddling with the sleek, Muggle-like projector suspended near her shoulder until it pointed at the slab of blank wall directly to the righthand side of the door. If, in the extremely small chance that anyone managed to come close enough to the room's entrance without her awareness, that location would give her just the time she needed to change her actions to something markedly less suspicion-inducing, and then sneak from the slightly removed chair in which she sat, leaving them to assume that someone had simply forgotten to shut down the projector.

Once satisfied, she faced forward again and uttered now-memorized instructions she'd found pasted on the projector.

Immediately, faintly glowing, vividly sharp 3-D images the height of the wall sprang to life in front of her. Six days earlier, Hermione had been astonished to find this single machine in the place of the hundreds of dusty newspapers, journals and diaries from as far back as 1543 that in Universe A had filled this archive room and several more running up the turret above it.

Say what anyone would about progress — and in this world, considering what was being done with House-Wizards, it wasn't much — Hermione deeply missed the smell of leather and the feel of musty books, papers and tomes beneath her fingers.

She took one last glance at the open Marauder's Map before she resumed her search. Afraid that erecting any shield or alarm charms might be too obvious in such a public place, she had already tinkered with the Map's framework so it would flash red and vibrate if anyone came within 20 meters of her. Her ears were still ringing slightly from the pounding music at the Haunt, and she didn't think she could fully trust them to alert her of someone's approach.

Then, with a few flicks of her wand, she navigated through to the Daily Prophet archives. Quickly, she flipped through the many articles she had read already, starting with the earliest:

-.-

FOR FIRST TIME IN ALMOST TWO CENTURIES: "WE WANT CHANGE"

As world war drags on with more wizard lives lost in the cross-fire, increasingly unpopular Grindelwald stands by decision to "keep out of Muggle business"

-.-

AFTER FAMILY TRAGICALLY KILLED IN BLITZ LAST SPRING, HOGWARTS PRODIGY, 16, PARTNERS WITH EMERGING PROFESSOR SINISTRA LOWE TO DEVELOP NEW MISSILE SHIELD SPELL, WINS INTERNATIONAL CONFEDERATION OF WIZARDS AWARD

Grindelwald Chief Counsel and Foreign Affairs Minister Albus Dumbledore says: "As young Mr. Riddle has shown, and as facilitated by Ms. Lowe's excellent instruction, it is truly our exploration and innovation that will position Britain as the pioneer of new and beneficial magical models amongst our peers."

-.-

DUMBLEDORE STEPS DOWN AS MINISTER OF FOREIGN AFFAIRS; MUGGLE-BORN ADMINISTRATORS AND STAFF FOLLOW SUIT

Shocking move confirms intent to assist Muggles; says Dumbledore: "We must stand by our non-magical allies to end this threat to Muggles and wizards alike."

-.-

DUMBLEDORE OUSTS GRINDELWALD IN SPECTACULAR DUEL; EMERGING GOVERNMENT STATES CONSERVATIVE GRINDELWALD SUPPORTERS POSE "MINIMAL ISSUE" IN ONGOING LEADERSHIP TURNOVER

After World War, surrounding nations hail transition to Sovereignty as "surprisingly peaceful"

-.-

DUMBLEDORE: "THE TIME TO INTEGRATE OUR TWO WORLDS IS NOW!"

Record crowds gather to greet new "Sovereign," applaud forthcoming era of progress, innovation and open Muggle partnership

-.-

SOVEREIGN RECOUNTS ENCOUNTERS WITH LEADING MUGGLE INVENTORS ON 50TH ANNIVERSARY OF WORLD FAIR "GRAND TOUR"

On inspiration from Zeppelin, Tesla, Fessenden, Edison and more, and why Muggle-Magical creations are the way of the future

-.-

WIZARDGAMNOT APPROVES MAGICAL INTEGRATION ACT, HAILS IT "PIONEERING"

Sovereign explains: "It is our birthright to explore, understand and harness every aspect of our magical nature — light, dark and everything in between. The nation that does this and does it well will possess a depth of control and influence to which no other country can compare."

-.-

SOCIETY PAGES: ANNOUNCING THE UNION OF MR. TOM M. RIDDLE, 22, to SINISTRA L. LOWE, 26

Beneath the announcement was an image of an even younger, strikingly handsome Tom Riddle alongside a woman with long, golden blond hair pulled partially from her face in a thick, beautiful braid, with bright, intelligent eyes and a vibrant smile - his former Hogwarts teacher, an Arithmancy and Alchemy expert with a passion for dissecting spells and mentoring others.

At this, Hermione couldn't help but pause, shaking her head. The ironic parallel between this world and her own was almost too great: In Universe A, Sinistra Lowe had been a staunch supporter of Pureblood supremacy, and had written a number of particularly loathsome and frightening books on the subject. It'd been rumoured Lord Voldemort had found a number of them particularly enabling, and had used the manifestos within them to build the platform of his anti-Muggle stance.

After a moment, Hermione continued flicking through articles, faster now:

-.-

"RABBLE-ROUSING" HOGWARTS PROFESSOR RELEASED FROM EMPLOYMENT

Old-Blood Sinistra Lowe "refused" to teach students newly revised Hogwarts curriculum that includes more balanced view of Light and Dark magic — "Always making trouble," says colleagues

-.-

RISING STAR RIDDLE APPOINTED MINISTER OF MYSTERIES

At 30, "Brilliant" Mixed-Blood becomes youngest Department of Mystery Minister since 1536

Wife Lowe remains outspoken critic of Sovereign policies, calling them "deplorable, dangerous and discriminatory"

Sovereign: "Minister Riddle's personal life is his own business; I have no doubt of his full support of my government and am confident the only person more capable of his new position is myself."

-.-

MLE FILES: PROTESTORS ARRESTED

Small but vocal number of "conservative rights activists" disrupt daily flow outside Phoenix with protests, insurrectionist speech; demand trailblazing Magical Integration Act be repealed

Instigator Lowe at forefront

-.-

"THE FINAL STRAW": OLD-BLOOD EXTREMIST SINISTRA LOWE EXECUTION SCHEDULED

Historically moderate Riddle appeals sentence; Wizengamot decision holds firm

ACME Director Nostradamus Trelawney: "There is no other option. This Old-Blood is preaching apostasy and is determined to take the rest of the country down with her unless she is stopped."

-.-

RIDDLE STEPS DOWN AS MINISTER OF MYSTERIES; INSTATED AS HOGWARTS INSTRUCTOR

Replaces recently dismissed Old-Blood Horace Slughorn as Head of Slytherin House

In fallout of widely reviled Sinistra Lowe's execution, the Sovereign stands by former Minister: "We cannot always help the sometimes tragic paths our loved ones choose. I am confident that former Minister Riddle is not his spouse, nor does he share her flawed beliefs."

-.-

MLE FILES: MUGGLE-BORN WITCH RESCUED FROM MUGGLE CRIME SCENE

Lily Evans-Lowry, 10, was pulled yesterday from the scene of a Muggle triple homicide investigation and placed with a Mixed-Blood foster family. Initial reports say child's step-father, Cain Lowry, 53, killed mother Salome Evans-Lowry, 33, and then himself in drunken rage

Lowry's son Rupert, 17, was also found deceased in upstairs bedroom

Despite stress of tragedy, girl shows "admirable lucidity and very promising magical talent"

-.-

SUCCESS IN "RETIREMENT": "YOUTHFUL" FORMER MINISTER TOM RIDDLE WINS HOGWARTS MENTORING AND TEACHING AWARD SEVEN YEARS RUNNING

Female students debate if success due to intelligence or appearance; amused Riddle asserts it's probably both

-.-

Today's Laughs Column: MAD MALFOY AT IT AGAIN

Compared to previous magical epochs, Sovereignty practices "careening toward instability," claims self-declared conservative and (understandably) largely discredited historian Lucius Malfoy: "Never before in Britain have the Dark Arts been introduced so systematically throughout every aspect of society. The effects of such practices on the minds of young children especially have never been thoroughly studied, though if the Italian Dark Age from 1434 − 1542 is any indication, we could be heading toward complete and utter disaster."

In other news, the Phoenix announced this morning the development of a Free Trade Agreement around the Sovereignty's integrated Magical/Muggle goods with major European and North American markets. 'Disaster?' To Mad Malfoy, we say instead: Poppycock! Take your prosophobic hogwash and stuff it elsewhere than our ears.

-.-

BREAKING NEWS: BETRAYAL!

Senior Phoenix Elite discover Hogwarts Headmaster and Former Minister of Mysteries Tom Riddle "has been incubating conservative insurgents for years"

Says Muggle-born Lily Evans, MLE Inspector and former Hogwarts Head Girl: "He always favored Old-Bloods, the conservatives especially. We all saw it, but we couldn't say anything — he was Headmaster, after all."

Sovereign "heartbroken" over treachery after years of friendship: "If deceit of this magnitude reveals the heart of a man, then the fabric of Tom Riddle's being is woven with lies. This breach of our collective trust will not go unpunished."

-.-

LIST OF RADICAL DISSENTERS GROWS

Over 20 "Old-Blood" families implemented in conservative conspiracy thus far

"Not all Old-Bloods," howls Arthur Weasley, Minister, Department of Muggle-Magical Technological Integration

-.-

SOCIETY PAGES: ANNOUNCING THE UNION OF MR. JAMES POTTER, 19, to LILY EVANS, 19

This announcement was one Hermione had not seen yet, and she leaned forward, carefully studying the image of James Potter and Lilly Evans on their wedding day. Almost immediately, she noticed James looked exhausted. He stood stiffly, his lips pressed tautly together, until Lily leaned over, a perfect, wide smile on her face, and muttered something to him; instantly, a smile jumped to his face but not quite his eyes, and he cheerfully waved to onlookers; then the image looped again.

After a few moments, she sat back, her brow furrowed at the mystery that was Harry's parents. She had read about how James had died, executed, five and a half years later for a murder he could not remember committing, amidst a trove of conspiracy theories, one of which postulated it was actually Lily herself who was somehow behind it.

Knowing Lily, Hermione didn't doubt that could very well be true, and the subsequent sympathy she'd felt for Harry had made her try to be a bit more patient with him, which had better facilitated the reluctant team they'd had to form as the only two conservative spies still free to roam "above ground," as she'd begun to think of their position outside the Chamber.

Her attention shifted back to the wedding announcement, and James' curious behavior. What would cause anyone to look so displeased about his own—

"Well, well, well."

Her heart nearly exploded from her chest; abruptly, her Invisibility Cloak was ripped from her shoulders, and she gasped in shock.

A shadow moved in the Archive room's arched stone entrance.

"What do we have here?"


A/N: Ohhhh man. EXCITEMENT next chapter, everyone! Who do you think's come across her? All theories accepted! :)

Other notes - Thank you, thank you for your lovely reviews, and many thanks to my fantastic beta, Jesusfreak100percent. This will be the last blatant Universe B history lesson for awhile, I promise. I find the timing of this rather ironic, as Jo apparently just released her new Harry Potter short today using a newspaper article to relay information as well! I won't necessarily be updating the rest of the chapters this quickly, but this one shot out rather fast! I'm really excited about the next chapter, which could possibly be why...